


Three

by Alistra (ALeaseInWonderland)



Series: It's Bad Luck to Believe in Superstition [3]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Multi, Nonverbal Communication, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27233578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALeaseInWonderland/pseuds/Alistra
Summary: Clint, Bucky and Natasha hooked up onFriday the 13thand later entered a steady polyamorous relationship.This is not the story of how that developed. This is a gratuitous night of them happily expressing their affection towards each other, at a later date when that relationship is established.Porn, guys, I am talking about porn.This is porn. All of it. Enjoy.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Series: It's Bad Luck to Believe in Superstition [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881235
Comments: 18
Kudos: 52
Collections: Winterwidowhawk Fest





	Three

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the promised second part of the series, but to shorten the wait until the actual plot has been wrangled into shape, have some guaranteed plot-free, angst-free, unapologetic happy threesome porn. 
> 
> _In Chinese cultures, the number **three** is considered good luck because the pronunciation is similar to the word for ‘alive.’_
> 
> **CloudAtlas** \- my four-leaf clover. My rabbit's foot. My beta. What would I do without you? (Find semicolons in inconvenient places, for one.) I'm always grateful for your help but never before more than with this work. Thank you.

The bedroom is dark when Natasha is jolted awake by the sound of her own suppressed moan. Already the outlines of her dream are growing hazy at the edges, leaving behind only the vague memory of hands on her body, the staccato beat of her heart and the insistent pulse between her legs.

Where stray slivers of light are stealing through the blinds, they paint stripes along the lines of James' sleeping form, his face barely visible where it's smushed into the pillow next to hers.

Squeezing her thighs together in a futile attempt at squashing the lingering arousal, Natasha turns over.

As she does, she finds Clint cracking one questioning eye at her in the gloom, sensitive to any movement on the mattress when he sleeps without his ears in.

 _Dream_ he sketches the sign lazily, questionmark lost in a stifled yawn. Natasha grimaces an affirmative that turns into a slow, slightly guilty smile.

 _Good dream?_ Suddenly very much awake, he punctuates the question with a broad grin.

Reaching for her under their overlapping blankets, he finds her hip and pulls her in until they are nestled comfortably chest to chest.

Her head fits under his chin like it belongs there, his sleep-warm scent filling her senses. At the dry brush of his lips against her forehead, Natasha would be content to drift off again in his arms. Until the lazy patterns of his fingertips snag at the elastic of her underwear, following its line just underneath the edge. His touch is unhurried and meandering; travelling over the curve of her backside, dragging along her thigh until her knee rests high on his hip.

Tangled curls tickle both their faces as deep breaths become content sighs. He rises just enough to nose the sleeve of her (technically his) t-shirt out of the way, smiling a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. Natasha laughs softly, the playful nip at his ear earning her a shudder in response.

With sedate inevitability, an almost electric tension is building between them, palpable in the certainty in which his hand finds its way between their bodies, stroking slow and teasingly along the already damp fabric of her panties. What the dream started, Clint's clever hands rekindle easily, igniting a simmering brush fire under Natasha's skin with feather-light touches; teasing but never delving beneath the thin barrier of fabric. There's no denying he's hardening against the soft swell of her belly, but no matter how Natasha cants her hips towards him, Clint always distracts her with a clever flick of his fingers. Stifling a gasp against his collarbone, his quiet laugh is affectionate but a little bit smug all the same.

In this moment, there can't possibly be a better place in the world than in the quiet warmth of this bed, surrounded by soft pillows and nestled against the hard lines of his chest. Unerringly, Clint knows how to make her twitch and sigh in his arms, building her pleasure slowly but steadily, and inside Natasha, impatience is warring with the knowledge that he's going to reward her in the end.

Suddenly, Clint lifts his head and stills.

Following his line of sight (and cheeky grin) over her shoulder, she finds James' giving them an universally understood bit of sign language that requires only one digit.

All three of them are very aware of how much he's been grumbling about his early start come morning, and yet nobody is exactly surprised when instead of complaining further, he molds himself to her back.

It will never get old, Natasha thinks, to watch her men meet over her body.

Despite the frown being slow to melt from James' face, he touches his nose to Clint's, traces its lines up one side then down the other, as if every kiss was their hesitant first and figuring out angles was still a thing. Clint waits with bated breath for the moment their lips meet, sighing as he melts into the kiss in hungry slow-motion.

Never breaking away, James's hand blindly finds its way under Natasha's shirt in a tight embrace, his broad palm a natural fit around her peaked breast.

This, Natasha amends, _this_ right here is her happy place.

Multitasking masterfully, they manage to keep kissing, nipping and laughing at each other as they kick off the blankets and rid her of her pants. It's no hardship to cede the reins to them, Natasha notes hazily. No matter how much she clings to control in any other situation, she gladly allows her pliant body to be arranged to their liking between them now.

Clint steals another languid kiss, chuckling low as she lets herself get distracted enough to start at the first soft brush of his fingertips returning between her legs. Eyes closed, she gives herself over to the twin sensation of his touch and James' hardness so tantalizingly close against her backside. Slowly, James kisses his way up her neck, into her hair and behind her ear, nipping at its shell. Clint's teeth are worrying at her shoulder, the rumble of his laughter reverberating against her skin when James leans back sputtering, removing stray hair from between his lips with a suppressed curse.

Maybe Natasha could have thought of a witty comment if Clint, always a master of timing, hadn't chosen that moment to finally breach her, two strong fingers slipping in so easily, the pad of his thumb dragging almost lazily over her clit.

Sparks of pleasure explode from her center, rippling along her limbs.

With a stifled cry, she bucks back into James' unyielding embrace, his amused expression gaining a hungry edge. Reaching back and up to him for a kiss has her stretching awkwardly, rocking herself down on Clint's clever fingers, all but pushing her chest into Clint's face with wanton abandon. James obliges all too willingly, taking her lips in a bruising kiss all the while trailing a sure hand down her body, stopping only briefly to hitch her twisted shirt all the way to her chin.

Immediately and with a happy groan, Clint latches on to Natasha's exposed breast, nipping at the pebbeling tip and suckling impatient bruises into the pale softness of her skin. She keens, lost to the sensation of spasming heat racing down her spine, blinding pleasure sparking at every point of skin contact. In the best possible ways, Natasha loses track of where any one of them ends and the next begins. Heat is building up between increasingly urgent bodies, gasping breaths and bitten off curses as all three of them press even closer towards each other, James' lips as demanding against her pleasure-slack mouth as Clint's are on her chest.

Vaguely she's aware of hands mapping out her body, of James detaching himself just long enough to divest himself of the last bit of his own clothing. Almost seamlessly, Clint takes over, kissing her for all she's worth, drowsy patience forgotten, his hips eagerly pressing into her as he chases her ever closer to that enticing precipe.

James returns with a warm hand on her hip and Natasha whines, shamelessly clenching to stop Clint from withdrawing his hand from her dripping folds.

He laughs.

The bastard chuckles with delight, peppering her face with adoring close-lipped kisses, even as his drenched fingers slide down the whole swollen length of her sex, spreading her wide and - oh!

Distinct, blunt pressure and Natasha all but cries out with relief as James pushes past Clint's spread fingers and slides home, stretching her deliciously and making her see stars.

A sudden hushed stillness settles over the trio. Through fluttering lashes, Natasha still notices with how much rapt affection Clint watches her, how James's laboured breath is hot against her neck as he attempts to stave off breaking apart right then and there.

It's only a brief respite; none of them are feeling particularly patient anymore. Clint runs his fingers all through her soft wetness, greedily touching where his lovers are so intimately joined, and the full-body shiver that runs through Natasha at the mental image jolts James into desperate motion.

With no leverage to speak of Natasha must hold on to Clint to keep any kind of balance as James, mouth slack in breathless abandon, sets a slow but steady rhythm. The soft noises of moving bodies - eagerly yielding wetness and accelerated breathing - fill the room, all three of them a tangle of feverish limbs and wandering, affectionate touches.

Natasha finds Clint's lips again, their kisses clumsy and soft as she is rocked into him, her chest against his and his clever hand manipulating her in the small space between them. It takes no time at all before her gasping breath becomes a high-pitched pant, her grip on his bicep tightening with bruising strength. Spurred on by Natasha's every muscle tensing up in anticipation, James hisses a wordless affirmative, working himself past the tight grip of her inner muscles with a renewed sense of urgency. The stretch of him feels almost unbearably good as the white-hot pleasure that has been building since before she even woke finally uncurls, flooding all of Natasha's senses.

Over the ringing in her ears, she _feels_ more than hears Clint whispering sweet filth into the dark secrecy of her hair, holding her steady. James' pursuit of his own release becomes more selfish, sending aftershocks of mindless pleasure zinging through each and every one of her nerve endings with every move.

Natasha whimpers - another high, desperate noise of unbridled want - and with desperate need, James hitches her leg higher on Clint's hip, burying himself as deep as he can. A groan rips out of his chest as he spills inside her, hips twitching minutely with what must be the toe-curling intensity of it. Sweating and shaky, he barely braces himself before falling on top of them, sloppily returning Clint's hot kiss breathlessly.

A moment later, with just one more peck to Natasha's shoulder, he joins in her soft noise of disappointment as he slips free of her body, collapsing heavily next to them.

Used muscles protesting in the most pleasant of ways, Natasha rolls onto her back between them. Soles of her feet flat against the mattress, a hoarse, happy laugh becomes a grimace as she feels warm wetness trickle out of her.

Everything reeks of sex.

To her left, James has entwined their fingers, looking ridiculously happy and thoroughly fucked out, his lips plump and kiss-bitten and hair a nigh unsalvageable rat's nest.

She probably looks no better.

James presses their joined fingers to his lips in the vaguest idea of a kiss and they are sharing a smile that speaks of more affection than a thousand words could, when the mattress dips to her right.

Clint has stood to kick off his own t-shirt and shorts, a terribly fond look for both of them on his face but it's not the part of his body drawing the most attention.

Nor is it where his own attention has come to rest.

Natasha feels her already flushed face darken another shade when Clint sits at her feet. Reflexively she's closed her bent knees, a tiny, deep-seated spark of something flaring up, demanding she cover herself. It's not rational, nothing he hasn't seen before, nothing he hasn't _actively caused_ far more than once. Still, it makes her heart race when he puts a tentative hand on each knee and with a look at her face that reverently asks permission, parts her legs.

James moves up in the pillows, cuddling closer while almost accidentally giving himself a better view.

Clint bites his lip, looking his fill at where she is still so flushed and tight, leaking James' release. Natasha's muscles twitch under the intense scrutiny, unwittingly forcing out another trickle of their mixed slickness. With a punched-out noise of desire, Clint breathes out shakily through his nose. His firm touch follows the soft skin on the inside of her leg, all the way from her knee down to the apex of her thighs.

Not only Natasha is holding her breath, it seems. James, too, watches raptly as Clint's palm rests warmly just to the side of her sex, his thumb brushing up through the mess.

And _into her_.

Involuntarily, her insides flutter, every nerve still lit up in afterglow. The angle of his hand is a little odd but his dexterity and the slight roughness of his thumb stroking at her drenched walls makes her pulse skip. There is no mistaking the hunger in the way Clint looks at his handiwork, the way he watches his fingers slip and pinch at her, enjoying the amounts of pleasure he keeps teasing from her at least as much as Natasha herself.

Natasha can't tell whose soft moans fill the room while Clint takes his time tracing the hills and valleys of her, spreading James' seed into her eagerly yielding folds before crawling up her body. Their skin sticks together with cooling sweat as they come chest to chest, James leaning in to catch Clint in a devastatingly tender kiss. Without breaking apart or even opening his eyes, Clint angles his hips and, gliding so easily on the combined slick of his lovers, slides home.

Natasha crosses her ankles on his back, willing him deeper while her free arm comes around to hold him, James' hand tightening on her other.

With only minute twitches of his hip, Clint seems happy to just stay where he is, trading slow and tender kisses with either one of them, or watching them with a beatific smile whenever they kiss each other.

It feels like forever and like no time at all before he finally moves, leaning up on one hand, the muscles in his arms standing out in the receding gloom as he guides her legs down from his back. Pushing her knees high and wide, he watches shamelessly where they are joined as he starts moving so slow and languidly that it drives Natasha out of her mind. She can only imagine what he sees, feeling and hearing the sloppy mess between them squish and slick with every pump of his hips.

No matter how experienced she's considered herself, Natasha finds herself blushing furiously.

Granting him even more access, she hitches her knee higher, gratefully hiding her face in James' neck when he takes hold of her calf. Something about the look on Clint's face says that this isn't just a porn fantasy to him. It's about his love for her as much about the undeniable evidence of James surrounding him intimately, joining the three of them together in the most carnal way.

Maybe it's endorphins running haywire, but James is cupping her jaw, lips moving against her hair in words of affection as he holds her close, Clint speeding up between her legs at the sight of it - it's almost enough to set her off all by itself.

His fingers find her clit in the sticky mess of their joining and Natasha shatters into a million prismatic fractals, tethered to this plane only by two sets of loving arms. Clint's hoarse cry of his own completion registers only dimly as she whites out under the safe weight of their bodies blanketing hers.

Their warmth envelops her as Natasha regains her senses.

They are grinning at her, both of them, and by all that is right and just, she should be saying something witty and sharp before either of them gets the idea in their head that they've fucked her out of all coherency. Although they'd be one hundred percent correct because nothing comes to mind other than the white noise of residual pleasure thrumming through increasingly sore muscles.

Natasha moves her legs experimentally but is quick to stop Clint when he tries to chivalrously get off her. He grins, kissing the tip of her nose when suddenly a jaunty tune pierces the air.

James rolls away with a dismayed groan and Natasha one-handedly signs _'noise'_ at Clint's confused expression, the sign for _'alarm'_ escaping her exhausted mind. 

The alarm clock has no mind for romance and, cursing profusely under his breath, James rolls out of bed.

Natasha and Clint can't help but grin, basking in both their afterglow and their lover's overly vocal annoyance.


End file.
